


dogeared

by roasthoney



Category: GOT7
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bullying, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Religious Conflict, Slow Burn, Slurs, Small Towns, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roasthoney/pseuds/roasthoney
Summary: It’s a boy. One around his age, maybe, but with pale skin and soft hands unlike Jaebum’s tan and callused palms. Around his height too, body thin and wiry like wheat swaying in the wind. Big ears. Dark hair swept up in some kind of trendy hairstyle and, Jesus, the prettiest looking face he’s ever seen.(Formerly named astilbe, i'll still be waiting.)





	1. Chapter 1

“Your lawyer’s here.” 

Jaebum looks up at the familiar officer through the holding cell bars. He’s so used to being here they should make a spot with his name on it, he thinks wryly to himself, but he bites his tongue because the officer’s opening the cell door and that’s a good sign.

Here’s the thing. Jaebum doesn’t have a lawyer. None in the small town nestled up north in Gangwan-do will take him with his reputation. So he’s curious, to say the least, on who would know he’s in here and who would go through the trouble of bailing him out. 

Others would hurry, but Jaebum takes his sweet time. “Thanks,” he says because he still has his manners even in a situation like this. The officer gives him a look like he’d love to throw Jaebum back in, but as ineffective as the local police force is they aren’t so corrupt. 

They’re not the reason he has a fresh black eye blooming as a wonderful swollen lump. A split lip that leaks the taste of iron onto his tongue every few minutes. 

When Jaebum sees him he freezes. It can’t be true, what his eyes are telling him. Must be the knock to the head giving him delusions again. 

The man in front of him quickly stands to his feet, opens and closes his mouth as if he’s trying to pick the right name out of a hat full of slips, scarf clutched in his hands. “Hyung,” he says in a way that feels too familiar. Too close considering how long it’s been. Too hopeful and too sweet. 

Jaebum walks by. One step at a time, he tells himself, his vision a blur outside of his single goal to get the hell out of here. The clack of dress shoes behind him tells him that he’s being followed and he curses under his breath, muttering reminders to himself, the kind that his therapist tells him will help with his temper.

He would bolt right out the building but it’s pouring outside. A real ugly torrent, the kind that gets you wet down to your bones. Jaebum stops because its twenty miles out to his house from here and his truck is there too. There are no buses that go that way neither.

“Hyung.” 

Jaebum takes a deep breath, and turns around. “What’re you doing here, Jinyoung?” He’s supposed to sound angry. He has a damn right to, he thinks. But he doesn’t — he sounds wary, guarded. As much as that’s what the reasonable part of him says, the rest of him drinks Jinyoung in. 

He has visible wrinkles now, by his eyes. They’re both over thirty, Jaebum thirty five now — halfway to forty makes him an old man who’s allowed to be this gruff, he thinks. Still, Jinyoung looks good. Like a real adult in his pressed black suit and shined to a perfect gleam shoes. His hair coiffed with something, straight and a little shorter than his old perm back when he knew him. His shoulders broader, his legs thicker, and Jaebum forces himself to not go down that path.

Suddenly he feels self-conscious in his dirt splattered flannel and slouchy jeans. 

“I came to see you,” Jinyoung says plain and honest. 

Jaebum wants to punch his own heart for jumping. 

“I went to the farm but you weren’t there, and I waited but you weren’t there. So I went looking for you, and someone said they saw you get arrested.” 

Jinyoung’s voice is all gentle understanding but something that feels like shame threatens to turn Jaebum’s stomach. _So now you act up,_ he spits at himself in his mind because he hasn’t cared all those times before, but somehow he does now. 

“Alright. So you’re here, what next?” 

Jinyoung looks to Jaebum, then at the clear glass door behind him that’s being battered with rain.

“Can I drive you home?” he asks with a step forward, as if he’s calming down some kind of feral animal. Jaebum tells himself that he can be cool about this. It’s a kind gesture with good timing, and he can be relaxed. Yet it still takes him a long time to respond — long enough to make Jinyoung’s face start to fall in preparation for rejection. 

“Yeah, alright.” 

Jinyoung’s eyes fucking _light up_. 

“We should run. So we don’t get too wet.” It sounds like an obvious suggestion but Jaebum doesn’t want to be left standing by the door after running like a fool, waiting for Jinyoung to catch up. Jinyoung agrees with a nod and it’s kind of silly, two grown men stomping through mud and splashing through puddles to get through the lot. 

Jaebum almost feels bad for tracking mud into Jinyoung’s nice car, a nice shiny black Hyundai that Jaebum sure as hell doesn’t know the name of, but at this point he’s soaked and he just wants to get home. He tugs off his cap and smooths his hair back — his hair is getting long, in desperate need of a cut, and when he looks to Jinyoung he catches him sharply turning his gaze away. 

Jinyoung knows the way. It shouldn’t mean something, but it does. The car’s dead quiet except for the sound of rain hitting the windshield, so Jaebum lets his eyes wander around the car. Spotless inside, of course, but knowing Jinyoung there’s probably a cluttered mess in the trunk. 

There’s only one thing. A corner of a photo peeking out of the top of the closed sun visor. A place to hold something private, where only you can look at it and only when you want to.

Jaebum taps the sun visor. “Can I?” Jinyoung nods, so he takes it out and thumbs the glossy surface. It’s a picture of the farm. Jaebum could recognize it anywhere, in any photo, in all its calm glory. The modest house, wood, built by his great, great, grandfather and his brothers. The small barn behind it — empty now, livestock proving to be too troublesome, and the set of plastic chairs out front for watching the crops grow or the sun set. Somewhere in the back if you squint hard enough, mountains over in North Korea across the border. 

“When’d you take this?” Jaebum asks without thinking, stunned at how of all things Jinyoung has this. 

Jinyoung’s fingers grip the steering wheel tight. “Back then,” he answers, and he doesn’t need to elaborate for Jaebum to understand. “I found an old roll of film, and I had it developed. Turns out it was from that summer.” 

That summer.

Feels like an understatement to Jaebum. A flood of memories threatens to spill out but Jaebum keeps his mouth shut, keeps the dam in place because he can’t handle the prospect of reliving it all. He blames the rain for making him nostalgic like this, and blames Jinyoung for showing up like an old ghost to haunt him. 

Sixteen years. Sixteen long years and Jaebum’s been fine without him. Nearly as much as how old Jinyoung was at the time, Jaebum only one year older, both fresh and young on the cusp of adulthood. So stupid back then, Jaebum thinks, but maybe he’s still stupid now because when they roll up to his house he doesn’t move to get out of the car right away. He realizes he’s still clutching the photo, so he tucks it back into Jinyoung’s hidden spot before he forgets to return it.

Jaebum knows he should leave with a curt goodbye and leave it at that. He has his crops to take care of, and nora. He has a full and healthy life, thank you — being alone is his preferred mode of being anyway. 

But he doesn’t leave.

“Why’re you here, Jinyoung?” he asks again, world weary. 

“I meant what I said, hyung. I came here to see you,” Jinyoung repeats himself, like lines off a rehearsed script.

“Cut the crap. What do you want?” Jaebum retorts quick as if to catch Jinyoung off guard. As if to snatch away the fake pretenses draped around them. 

But instead of spluttering, Jinyoung just gives him a firm look. That same damned stubborn stare as before. “I wanted to see you.”

“I’m thirty five now,” Jaebum says as some kind of warning, and Jinyoung blinks back before saying, “I know, I’m thirty four.” 

_Smartass_ , Jaebum mutters under his breath as he fumbles open the car door. This is a bad idea. It's a terrible idea, but he doesn't have to heart to turn Jinyoung away in rain like this — or at least that's what he tells himself, instead of something cliche like thinking he _misses_ him. “Well I’m not going to make you do a three hour drive back to Seoul in this shit weather. You want coffee or not?”

If Jinyoung is smiling as he follows him into the rain, Jaebum tells himself he doesn’t notice.


	2. Chapter 2

The bell is what calls Jaebum home. It’s an old bronzed thing, rusted and dented after a few too many enthusiastic rings. Jaebum doesn’t know how old it is, just that it’s been at the farm for as long as he remembers. When he’s out in the fields it’s his mom’s way of telling him to come home — usually for a meal, and Jaebum happily trots home with a rumbling and empty stomach. 

But today it’s too early for lunch and Jaebum walks back disgruntled. He’d been shin deep in fertilizer, trying to get all of the new tomato plants ready for the summer. They’re cutting it close with how late the seedlings came in from the nursery this year and Jaebum has his hands full trying to get them all planted in time. So it’s not an understatement to say that he’s stinking like shit when he gets to the house, boots caked in the substance and his linen shirt damp with sweat from the hot early summer sun. 

Jaebum keeps growing out of his shirts so fast his mom starts buying ones that are too big, so he won’t be ripping it in a few months. First it was the growth spurt and now his shoulders are filling in. He likes it, he thinks, when he looks himself in the mirror. He looks older, a real grown man.

There’s a car he doesn’t recognize parked in front of the house. A modest but nice one, sparkling clean, nothing like their old pickup truck. Jaebum squints at it through the mess of bangs flopping down into his eyes. Something about it being more humid than usual’s made his hair curled up and he’s been too lazy to ask his mom for a cut, so here he is a mop headed mess. To add to it he still has a split lip so bad it bleeds a little when he talks too much.

There’s rain coming, he thinks to himself. A big storm up on the horizon.

“Jaebum,” his mom calls from the doorway, then spots his muddy boots and frowns. Instead of ushering him in, she ushers someone out of the house.

It’s a boy. One around his age, maybe, but with pale skin and soft hands unlike Jaebum’s tan and callused palms. Around his height too, body thin and wiry like wheat swaying in the wind. Big ears. Dark hair swept up in some kind of trendy hairstyle and, Jesus, the prettiest looking face he’s ever seen.

Is he one of those flower boys, the ones they talk about on television during the talk shows that Jaebum doesn’t pay much attention to? Everything on his face is soft, sweet, appealing in some kind of mysterious way. 

Unfortunately because of how dazed he is, he fails to greet him like how he should. The guy steps up instead.

“Hi. Nice to meet you, I’m Jinyoung,” he says with an offered hand. Jaebum takes it for a quick and hard shake and marvels at how soft his skin is. Must be a city boy — or some kind of modern prince.

“Jaebum. Same to you. How old are you?”

He cuts straight to the chase here.

“Ah, eighteen.” 

“Well, I’m nineteen.” The implication is clear. Jinyoung, to his credit, seems to take it well with a polite albeit unreadable smile. If he has a problem with it he at least doesn’t let it show. “Alright, hyung.” 

Jaebum’s mom interjects before he can put his foot into his mouth. “Jaebum, Jinyoung will be staying with us for the summer. I’m friends with his mom and she offered to send him here, to help with the farm.”

As kindly as Jaebum’s mom says it, he doesn’t take it as so. They don’t _need_ anyone’s help. Alright, maybe some extra hands would solve a lot of the problems that keep Jaebum up at night but _needing_ is a different story. Jaebum frowns and Jinyoung seems to notice, because a small furrow appears between Jinyoung’s brows. Any trace of previous excitement disappears. 

Excited for what, Jaebum thinks. Excited to spend hours doing the same backbreaking work hour after hour? Jaebum doubts it. He sees right through Jinyoung, the pampered, pretty, city boy he is. He bets he won’t last a day. Maybe he’ll try to help out but this kind of work isn’t easy. It’s a summer of manual labor, not a resort for him to visit before he probably goes off to some college in Seoul to study some kind of subject that’ll prepare him to work some fancy job. Opportunities is what his teacher calls them. Opportunities to get out of this town, meet new people. 

More open minded people.

Jaebum grunts as his way of greeting him. Better for Jinyoung to think him gruff instead of friendly and get ideas in his head about how close they’re going to be. He doesn’t have any friends in this town and he’d like to keep it this way — the less people know about him the better. 

“I’m happy to be here, thank you for having me,” he says, and Jaebum’s mom gives him a warm smile in return. “Of course. Jaebum, why don’t you show Jinyoung around?” 

It’s not really a question. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

There is a small problem. Jinyoung’s wearing a pressed shirt, slacks, and some fancy looking black leather shoes. It’s the type of outfit people in the city wear out to church, Jaebum figures because he’s never worn an outfit like that. Tailored, with how slim the line of his pants is and how his shirt tucks in so neatly against his waist.

His eyes sweep up from Jinyoung’s feet to the very top, where their eyes meet. Where Jinyoung’s catch him looking like that. Jaebum realizes instantly how it might seem and his cheeks color as he coughs out, “you got a change of clothes?”

Jinyoung seems mollified at their split second shared misunderstanding and nods. “Yeah, let me. I’ll go change really quick.” He scurries off to his room (their room now, Jaebum guesses, and that room is already too damn small it’s going to be hell trying to fit two people in there) and his mom gives him a look. 

_That_ look, the one she’d give him before sending him off to his classes for the day. The one that says _don’t get into trouble_ and _be a good person_ all at once. 

“Take care of him, Jaebum,” she says stern but as loving as usual. Jaebum rubs at the back of his neck, feeling scolded for his gruff attitude. As much as he puts on a tough front, he can never keep it up around his mom. He knows better than to try. “Yeah, I will mom.” 

The truth is he’d do anything for his mom and she knows it. As many fights as Jaebum gets into, as many times he disappoints her, he wouldn’t do anything to make her unhappy. He’s a good kid — she knows. 

“That’s my son,” she says, then leaves Jaebum with a smile as she always does. Probably to tend to the guests in the living room, he guesses. Jaebum wonders how Jinyoung’s parents look. Baby faced, like him, or something more stern? 

Jinyoung shows up just as Jaebum’s trying to remember how his face looks. For some reason now he wants to look at his parents even more, to see how Jinyoung might look when he’s all grown up. Now that he’s in a t-shirt and jeans he looks even younger, scrawnier, studious but not strong. He seems to know it too with how he crosses one arm in front of him and sort of tugs his sleeves down as far as they go. 

“Come on,” Jaebum drawls with a jerk of his chin towards the nearest building. Jinyoung will have to get used to the way he talks. Korean thick with his country accent and slow like dripping honey. “This is the barn.” 

It smells like crap. There’s only one cow in there, a big brown one too old to have any new calves. To most that means she’s nearing the end of her life but Jaebum thinks he and his mom are too soft to let her go like that, even if they could fetch a good price if they sold her now. 

“That’s our cow, we only got one.” He doesn’t bother putting on boots to go deep into the barn. It’s nothing like the fancier ones with set areas and gates. Just a decent sized room with hay strewn about. 

“Does she have a name?” Jinyoung leans forward like he wants to step inside but he knows he shouldn’t in his sneakers. He looks at her with soft brown eyes of his own and it surprises Jaebum — cows aren’t exactly the most popular animals out there, so this sudden affection is unexpected. 

“No, actually. We just… call her cow.” When Jaebum says it outloud he realizes how it sounds — a bit cold. She’s been with them for years and sure she’s only a cow, but Jaebum’s never thought about her having a name or not. If it mattered or not.  
“Cow works. I was just curious,” Jinyoung diplomatically adds to cover any possible offense he’s made about how Jaebum treats their animals. He steps back as if to distance himself and Jaebum decides then that he doesn’t like it. 

This sort of mask that Jinyoung has going on. Real good at hiding his face and what he’s really thinking under there. Jaebum knows how to spot it — he has a good mask of his own. 

“You can name her, if you want,” Jaebum asks, curious to see what reaction he’ll get.

“Oh,” Jinyoung lets out without thinking, blinking fast. “I didn’t think you’d. Um, well.”

After a considerable pause where Jinyoung looks to be thinking so hard it makes _Jaebum’s_ head hurt, he scratches his cheek and gives him an out. “It’s alright, I was just offering, she doesn’t need —”

“Lady,” Jinyoung interrupts in a burst. “In English. It’s like, it means woman.” 

“Lady,” Jaebum tests out in foreign tongue. To be frank, he isn’t so keen about using another language to name his own cow but it sounds nice and kind of elegant. Besides, Jinyoung is the one who brought up the whole name thing so it makes sense for him to choose it. “Alright, lady it is.” 

Said lady looks up from munching on hay to moo at them, and Jaebum _nearly_ smiles. The corner of his mouth does turn up, enough that when he glances at Jinyoung he catches him looking at it. He wipes it off immediately of course, because it is a little lame to be smiling at a cow of all things.

“Next.” He closes the door and moves on. This building is smaller, cleaner, full of stacked shelves and some locked cabinets. “This is supplies. Be careful, some sharp stuff around here.” 

Suddenly in the corner there’s a rustle — Jinyoung jolts visibly then seems embarrassed by it. “What’s that sound?” he asks and Jaebum can hear the way he tries to sound brave. Easily scared, Jaebum notes.

He knows what it is so he’s calm. “We have ghosts,” he says with a casual shrug. 

“ _Ghosts_?” Jinyoung doesn’t yelp but he comes damn close to it. 

Oh shit, Jaebum thinks, it’s kind of fun teasing him. “Yeah, ancestors and stuff. They like to mess with our stuff.”

It’s admirable how hard Jinyoung tries to look calm and cool and collected despite how the blood is draining away from his cheeks. 

As if intentionally spoiling his trick, Nora comes hopping out of a pile in the corner and trots right up to Jinyoung to rub her scent against his ankles. Relief makes Jinyoung’s shoulders slump, but he also looks at Jaebum with an admittedly cute face. Pursed lips, an accusatory gaze, a typical reaction to being teased but it looks particularly good on him. 

“Hyung, not funny.” 

But Jaebum grins because it _is_. It transforms his face. From serious and stern to bright, almost cat like, sweet and joyful and so young. “Really? I think it’s funny to me.” He crouches and clicks his tongue and Nora leaps into his arms with the usual feline grace. Jaebum carries her like a baby in his arms. 

“This one has a name. Nora, meet Jinyoung. Jinyoung, Nora.” 

Adorably (because of Nora), Jinyoung takes her paw and gives it a gentle shake. “Nice to meet you, Nora.” And now that his politeness is directed towards his cat instead of himself, Jaebum thinks it sounds a little more sincere. Sweeter, less obnoxiously formal. Nora takes the shake well but then leaps out of Jaebum’s arms and darts away and out the storage shed door. 

“Don’t worry, she does that a lot. She’s kind of a loner.”

Jinyoung looks like he wants to say something but bites his tongue. Instead, he says a bland, “ah, really?” and Jaebum doesn’t bother answering. He lets Nora go, waves for Jinyoung to follow instead, and heads to the most important part of the farm.

The plants. Rows and rows of mature tomato vines, strong and still going because of years of careful nurturing. The new section might be Jaebum’s idea but these have been here for years, producing season after season of bright red, impossibly sweet, tomatoes. 

The sky looks worse than it did this morning. Darker, heavier, storm clouds now above them instead of a fair distance away. Jaebum trudges forward anyways because he isn’t afraid of any clouds. It’s no point hiding out of fear of what isn’t even happening, wasting precious time in the process. Jinyoung, to his credit, follows along instead of protesting or pointing out the weather.

“These are our fields. Tomatoes only.” 

They don’t look too impressive but it isn’t season yet and Jaebum loves them anyway. Every single vine and winding twirl. The rows are narrow enough and the ground flat so that Jinyoung only sees Jaebum’s back in front of him, the golden tan on the nape of his neck and a tuft of hair flattened out and facing the wrong direction. 

“You ever have a fresh tomato?” Jaebum asks as they walk deeper and deeper into the fields.

Jinyoung shakes his head, then remembers that Jaebum can’t see him like this. “No, not from a farm. Fresh from the supermarket, maybe?” 

That joke does earn a chuckle from Jaebum. 

“The ones here are a million times better than those.” Jaebum looks back to see if Jinyoung’s still there, and Jinyoung catches the sharp silhouette of Jaebum’s face against the farm. “You’ll get to try one soon. Season is coming up.” Another smile dances across Jaebum’s face but it disappears when a large drop of water hits his forehead. 

Jinyoung notices and looks to the sky. 

“Is it warm?”

“What?”

“I mean. Is it warm?” Jinyoung’s still staring up and like this all Jaebum can see is his bared neck. The bump of his adam’s apple, the hollows around his throat like deep canals leading him somewhere. Another drop hits Jaebum’s cheek and this time he can feel it. 

“Yeah, I think. Summer rain.” 

Jinyoung continues looking up. As if he’s about to disappear. 

“I know it’s weird — but I’ve always wondered what it’d feel like. Standing in a storm. People would look at me like I’m crazy if I didn’t avoid the rain with them. No one wants to get wet. No one wants to stop, and see what it’s like.”

A drop hits Jinyoung’s cheek and rolls down the curve of it, dripping down his jaw next to where it dangles on his chin like a tomato to be picked — Jaebum can’t look away. 

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” 

It seems to break the spell — and Jinyoung’s finally looking at him. The rain starts in earnest now; Jaebum watches it slowly soak him. Watches it collect on his eyelashes and dribble off his lips. He hears the patter of it loud against the leaves and, in some odd way, can feel it sinking into the soil. 

“If you’re crazy.” Jaebum doesn’t know what he’s saying, just that words are coming out of his mouth. He can feel the water trickle down his spine and coat his skin, plaster his already thin shirt to his body and flatten his hair so he has nothing to hide behind. “I’m crazy too.” 

There’s a deep rumble overhead. Jinyoung smiles — and somewhere in the distance behind him, lightning cracks.


	3. Chapter 3

Jaebum looks exactly the same, yet completely different too. Like meeting a stranger you had a vivid dream about a long time ago. He walks the same, talks the same, the country twang of his accent as comforting as hearing an old song on the radio. 

But he looks older, undeniably so. It’s not like he’s stopped being attractive — there’s still solid muscle underneath his clothes, his sharp gaze and sharp cheekbones despite any new wrinkles that have formed. But time has passed and when Jinyoung looks at him he can see those years.

Lost years, ones he won’t get to spend again with him. When did those form, Jinyoung wonders. When did he start to favor his right hand over his left. When did he get that scar on his palm, or the line between his eyebrows. Jinyoung used to tease him about how he was really an old man trapped in a young man’s body, but now it feels closer to reality.

Jinyoung knows he looks different too. Fuller, taller. More confident, more prideful. He spent so many years trying to become someone who looks reputable and it seemed to work — but in front of Jaebum, he feels like a stubborn teenager all over again. 

He feels _something_. 

Something that made him get in his car and drive for hours, starting early this morning. Something that pushed him forward when he’d stop to look at the photo and remind himself where he was going. Something that still flutters around in his chest when he sees Jaebum look at him. Something that brings him to town after he finds Jaebum’s house empty, then to the police station after asking anyone he found walking around. 

Jaebum asked him why he was there and Jinyoung was telling the truth. 

To see him.

And now that he has, he’s not so sure on what to do next. They stumble into Jaebum’s place and it is, frankly, a mess. Jaebum obviously doesn’t spend much time in the living room and some parts of it are covered with dust, some parts stacked with newspapers or scattered pieces of clothes. It’s not filthy, but it somehow feels like a place that no one lives in. Abandoned and empty. 

Jinyoung shakes off the rain and hears lightning crack outside, the loud patter of heavy drops against the rooftop. One of the nice things about the house was always how well made it was. No matter how hard it stormed, or snowed, it stayed snug and dry.

Jaebum tosses a towel at him and Jinyoung uses it to try and dry off. 

It’s incredibly awkward. Jinyoung doesn’t know what to say, and Jaebum is still giving off his aura of _don’t even try it_. Jinyoung gets it, his arrival is abrupt.

But maybe he did have some silly fantasies about how today would go.   
Running and jumping into open arms kind of fantasies. 

Jaebum clatters around in the kitchen to make them coffee and Jinyoung shrugs his jacket off, walks the familiar path around the living room. The same photos hung up for display. The ones he missed the most — Jaebum’s baby photos, his face round and so happy with childish glee. 

It brings a small smile to Jinyoung’s face. 

He turns and there Jaebum is, looking at him. Not saying anything — just looking. Being caught breaks him out of his silence.

“Just milk?” he asks and Jinyoung nods. 

“You still remember,” Jinyoung notes and Jaebum tries to brush it off, as usual, with one of his shrugs as he turns to pour and prep. “I didn’t, that’s why I asked.” 

_Bullshit_ , Jinyoung thinks to himself but he holds back from saying it. A meow sounds out in agreement and Jinyoung spins and searches for the sound with delight. There — Nora, all grown and gorgeous now, and Jinyoung practically _coos_. 

“Nora, baby,” he says so sweet and drops to his knees so he can be closer. He pats his thigh and waits patiently for her to approach and recognize his offered hand. A part of him hopes that even if Jaebum’s forgotten, Nora hasn’t. 

Thankfully she patters forward and nuzzles at his palm with the side of her head, a classic marking motion. Jinyoung glows and scoops her up into his arms so he can rub at her favorite spot (her belly) and feel her purr in his arms. Cats thankfully forgive much quicker than humans. She’s licking at his fingertips when he feels someone behind him, and there’s Jaebum looking down at them with a tired look in his eyes. 

“Already gave in, huh Nora?” 

She continues to purr.

_Wouldn’t hurt for you to, too_ , Jinyoung wants to say but doesn’t. Best to stay on Jaebum’s good side when he doesn’t know how welcome he is here yet, outside of the sudden thunderstorm and Jaebum being too kind to set him out onto muddy roads. 

Like this, he’s kneeling in front of Jaebum. It’s not a bad view — honestly.

Jaebum offers a mug to him and Jinyoung rises so he can hold it and thank him with a quiet nod. He moves to sit on the couch and Jinyoung follows — doesn’t quite shove things out of the way so he can sit the way that Jaebum does, but there’s a spot he can kind of perch his ass on. 

“So,” Jaebum says. Jinyoung waits for him to continue but he doesn’t.

“So,” he says back rather diplomatically. He is the sudden guest here so he knows he should say something — but suddenly he’s tongue tied. He retreats by sipping quietly at his coffee.

Jaebum seems to mull something over before he talks. “What’d they charge me with?”

Ah. The police. “Well, they _tried_ to charge you with a lot. But I convinced them that it wasn’t a good idea.” 

More like used the weight of the law firm he works at to scare them into avoiding a potential lawsuit, but Jinyoung does consider that a negotiation tactic. He can be quite convincing in a terrifying way, if he tries. 

Jaebum shrugs. “Same thing. What was it?”

The stubborn part of Jinyoung wants to point out how it is not the same thing, since he prevented something much worse from happening, but this isn’t the time to be pedantic. 

“Assault and public indecency.” 

Clear and nonjudgmental. At least, that’s how Jinyoung _tries_ to sound. 

“They couldn’t explain why public indecency.” There’s a hidden question in there, a subtle one, but Jaebum declines from answering. He just drinks from his cup and winces when the hot liquid hits his split lip. Jinyoung wants to ask, so badly, to shake him until answers fall out. But instead he sees the cut sting red and reaches forward on some kind of caring instinct. 

“Are you okay? Do you need help —” Jinyoung’s hand comes close to touching Jaebum’s lip but suddenly he’s blocked by Jaebum and jostled hard enough for the cup in his other hand to slosh, spilling coffee onto his thighs. 

It’s hot enough to make Jinyoung swear and stand. Jaebum’s eyes go wide and he grabs a nearby strewn flannel to mop it up, dabbing so quick and frantic he probably doesn’t realize how close he is to Jinyoung’s crotch. 

That is painful in a completely different way. 

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to. Fuck.” The more panicked Jaebum gets the harder he dabs, and Jinyoung has to grab his wrist to stop him from working himself up into a worried frenzy. (His wrist is so thin. Thinner than Jinyoung remembers. Has he been eating, eating well?) 

“Hyung, it’s okay.” Jinyoung uses his soothing voice — he one he needs for frazzled clients. “It doesn’t hurt at all.” 

He does set the cup down on a nearby table just in case. 

“Still —”

“It’s okay,” Jinyoung interjects before Jaebum can start blaming himself, or apologizing. Now they’re standing together and this is as close as he’s gotten to Jaebum today. His hand is still on his wrist and he doesn’t let go, though he loosens his grip enough so that if Jaebum wanted to pull away he could.

He doesn’t. 

Jaebum looks _good_. Still so damn handsome. The kind that makes anyone take a second look, makes them want to be someone special. Someone that Jaebum would pay attention to and pick out of the hundreds of choices he’s sure to have. The same broad shoulders and his face’s lost a lot of its old baby fat, but Jinyoung knows that if Jaebum smiles his full cheeks will be back. 

“Can I?” Jinyoung asks with his hand tentatively raised in the air this time, so as not to startle him. He looks at him with a disarming gaze. The kind that everyone else says is just plain unfair, because it always gets him what he wants. 

Jaebum can see right through it, of course, but it might help convince him to soften up a bit. 

Jaebum nods. Success. Jinyoung reaches up so slowly. Rests the pad of his thumb on Jaebum’s lip so that he can see how the split reacts, how deep it is, if it oozes or just stings. Thankfully it doesn’t seem so bad and Jinyoung moves onto his black eye next. This one is trickier. He doesn’t touch much but he does use his fingertips to lightly turn Jaebum by his chin, to see how far the bruising goes. 

This part isn’t anything new. It feels like one of their old rituals, nostalgic in an oddly sweet way.

“It’s not so bad. If you ice it tonight, the swelling shouldn’t be so bad tomorrow.”

Their eyes meet and Jinyoung traces the edge of Jaebum’s jaw next. Nothing’s wrong with it. Looks as perfect as ever, Jinyoung thinks, his heart jumpstarting into a new and fast beat. He hasn’t felt like this in so, so, long.

If he just leaned forward, right now. 

If he pressed his lips very carefully against Jaebum’s.

Jaebum turns his head away to break the spell. 

“You should stay the night. Don’t think the rain’s ending anytime soon. Feel free to use the shower too, I spilled all over you.” 

Jinyoung bites his own tongue from saying an inappropriate comment and simply nods. And no matter how he cuts it, that felt a lot like a rejection. But still, Jaebum isn’t kicking him out and telling him to leave so he takes it as a good sign. 

“I’ll shower now.” 

It’s a bit like running away but Jinyoung takes this as his chance to breathe and collect himself. 

He’s not sure what he’s doing here. He wanted to see Jaebum, and here he is. Yet he doesn’t know what to do next. Stripping out of his suit and standing under the spray of hot water clears his head at least. 

Jaebum might not miss him back. He might think that Jinyoung’s crazy, that he’s just someone unwanted from the past showing up on his doorstep and being a nuisance. Breaking his peaceful life up. Maybe there’s someone else in the picture. A wife or something hidden away somewhere. Maybe there’s just nothing left between them. 

Maybe there is, but forgiveness isn’t there to let it take root again. 

It’s arrogance coming here like this. Crazy, impulsive, hopeful and foolish, all things that Jinyoung has tried not to be. Conceited to imagine that after how many years — Jaebum would take one look at him and there’d be romance. Love. Something inexplicable and everlasting. 

Now that Jinyoung thinks it into words, it all sounds so silly. 

Jinyoung isn’t sure how long he takes — could be ten minutes, or fifty, but it’s when he gets out that he realizes he left all of his things in his car. 

Yes, he packed a weekend bag. Just in case. 

_You know exactly what you were hoping for,_ ” a small voice in his brain supplies and Jinyoung quickly shuts it up. 

First thing’s first, he’s naked. His clothes are damp from the humidity of the hot water and he wonders if that’s karma for taking so long. The towel that Jaebum gave him isn’t even that big. Enough to cover the important parts and maybe most of his thigh, if he doesn’t spread his legs in any way. 

Jinyoung violently flushes — thinking about spreading his legs at a time like _this_.

He wraps the towel around his waist as tightly as he can and peeks his head out. The coast is clear, he thinks. He’s not exactly sure how he’s going to make it all the way outside to his car without getting muddied up but damn is he going to try. He can’t wander around Jaebum’s house _naked_. 

Halfway across the room he gets caught.

“Jinyoung?” 

Puzzlement. Realization. Jinyoung knows that, the telltale path that Jaebum’s eyes take starting from his face, down, further down, before flickering back up. 

Jinyoung _knows_ that look. 

It makes his blood run hot. 

“Did you? Need clothes?” Jaebum blessedly figures out in fast fashion and Jinyoung nods and wonders if the floor would be kind enough to swallow him up. Not only is he naked, but now he’s battling the urge to get hard from the way Jaebum’s gaze raked him. He wonders if he approves. If he wants. 

Fuck. 

Jaebum disappears into his bedroom and Jinyoung can’t do anything other than sort of fidget in place. After a suspiciously long pause, Jaebum returns looking more composed and with a bundle of clothes in his arm. 

“Here, you can use these.” He thrusts them forward.

“Thanks,” Jinyoung says weakly and takes them (one hand still remaining on the towel with a death grip), and continues to stand there because he can’t exactly get dressed in front of Jaebum without flashing him in the process. 

Jaebum stares for a moment or two before he seems to snap himself out of it. “Ah, yeah. I’ll give you some. Privacy. Yeah. Sorry.” 

He moves too fast to tell, but Jinyoung thinks there could’ve been pink scattered across Jaebum’s cheeks. Right before Jaebum shuts the door fully, Jinyoung remembers how to speak and splutters out, bundle of clothes clutched in his hand, “ — goodnight.” 

The door pauses. A soft, “goodnight, Jinyoung,” then the click as it closes. 

A soft meow interrupts before Jinyoung can think too hard about the exchange. He smiles, because the situation is so surreal he doesn’t know how else to react. Nora curls around his ankles and he sighs, a tired but fond sound. 

“Goodnight to you too, Nora.” 

She at least seems to be happy he’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/roasthoney) and [twitter!](https://twitter.com/roasthoneyed)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the updated tags for warnings.

Waking up at dawn is awful. 

It’s the kind of thing that sounds good and dashing in books. A handsome and disciplined protagonist who rises at dawn and is incredibly productive as the sun rises, sipping his cup of long black in a crisp suit.

Jinyoung is not that man. If possible, he’d like to sleep in until lunch, but his parents always made him get up by 8AM every day, including weekends. At least for Sunday there’d be a reason — church service. Saturdays though, Jinyoung might have a chip on his shoulder for being forced to roll out of bed for no reason at all other than general good behavior. 

But here on the farm, a rooster serves as their alarm clock and Jinyoung wishes he could reach over and turn it off somehow. It’s so early the room looks dim, shrouded and beginning to light up but still too cold and too early. Jaebum, unlike him, rolls out of bed at the first crow and drags his feet to the bathroom. 

Jinyoung wants to roll over and go back to sleep. Instead he makes himself sit up and tries to rub the exhaustion out of his eyes. His hair is a mess, a real bird’s nest, and he’s sure he looks ridiculous when Jaebum returns and seems surprised to see him up. 

“I’m —” Jinyoung yawns, arms raising on instinct, “I’m coming with you. To help,” he says, bleary.

Jaebum looks skeptical, but pleased. If Jinyoung paid enough attention he could catch the way Jaebum’s eyes glance down to the strip of stomach exposed when Jinyoung raises his arms like that, but he doesn’t. 

“Alright. You have ten minutes. I’ll make coffee.”

Making coffee around here refers to pouring the instant mix into a cup of boiled water, but Jinyoung breathes it in like it’s the fanciest cup he’s ever had. Jaebum is certainly the hottest barista he’s had. Not that Jinyoung thinks he’s attractive, but he does think a person would have to be blind not to notice how good looking the guy is. How arresting his gaze is. 

How something about Jaebum makes you want his approval, his favor, a place in his world in which you’re allowed to stay. 

Splashing cold water onto his face helped a bit but Jinyoung is still drowsy, eyes drooping like a small child’s. The first sip is way too hot but it’s a godsend and Jinyoung sighs so happily that Jaebum nearly smiles in return.

“You should film a coffee commercial,” Jaebum says so casually that Jinyoung finds it hard to tell if he’s joking or not. He decides to go for the more generous interpretation.

“Do I look like I could be on TV?” It’s not a boast. A mild self-deprecating joke because Jinyoung feels awful, and he thinks he must look awful because of it. 

Surprisingly, Jaebum answers seriously.

“Yeah. You do.” 

The pause afterwards drags on. Jinyoung, surprised and with little brain functioning right now, can only muster a stunned blink and a soft, “oh.”

Jaebum promptly downs the rest of his coffee. “Come out when you’re ready,” he says then stomps away in his heavy work boots, the wooden door slamming from how sudden his departure is. The sound is as sharp as a gunshot in the quiet of the morning. Jinyoung would wince if he understood what had just happened. 

Tongue tied like a teenager. Jinyoung berates himself — he needs to be sharper than that around here. He gulps the rest of his coffee down, coughing at the acrid lingering taste, and wrestles his own feet into shoes appropriate for stomping around in damp mud. 

After the downpour yesterday the ground shines dark brown. The air is crisp, clean, like it’s been wrung out like a soaked rag, or channeled in straight from where the wind comes from. Jinyoung steps outside and takes in a deep breath with all of his might. When he opens his eyes and breathes out he feels a little more awake — and in front of him, like some mirage slipping in and out of focus, is Jaebum in the fields ahead of him. Standing between the rows so Jinyoung can see him. 

Jaebum waves him over, and Jinyoung follows. 

Jaebum tasks him with digging holes. Plain holes, nothing fancy, just ones to place the young tomato plants in. The first few that Jinyoung digs are too uneven — he has to watch Jaebum as he shakes his head, pulls him aside and shows how to make them equally wide and equally deep. The spacing is important, he explains. Without proper space the plants won’t take properly. No matter how good the seedling, without enough room their roots will tangle up and there’s little way to recover from that. 

Jinyoung mulls over that idea as he digs. Tangled up roots. He’s not sure where his are from, or where they belong. Seoul, maybe. His father’s church. Or Jinhae, a place he only has distant memories of, vague clouded things from his early childhood days. 

Or here. But, Jinyoung thinks as he dismisses the mere idea, it’s too late. 

Jaebum works too — he carries the plants to the row from the nearby cart, lifts and buries each one, pats the soil firm and keeps the rows straight. He shows Jinyoung how to grip the shovel properly, callused palm on top of his for a brief but unusually warm moment.

They make a good team, efficient and quiet as the sun rises higher and higher up into the sky above them. 

Two hours in, Jinyoung’s hands start smarting. He ignores it and keeps going. But then he starts to wince, the heavy gloves he has on start to shift, and Jaebum notices with his sharp gaze.

Instead of saying something, like the average person would, Jaebum suddenly reaches for Jinyoung’s forearm and stops him from working. Without a word, he peels the glove off and the skin is raw underneath. An angry, stinging, pink with red welling at the edges. 

“I should’ve told you to take it slow. We made fast progress but you’re not used to this.” 

Jinyoung wants to bristle, protest, say anything about how he’s going to work hard and earn his place here. But he knows Jaebum is right. His hands are baby soft city hands. The only callus he has is the side of his middle finger where his pencil rubs. 

Jaebum looks up at the sun, squints at it for a moment, and takes the shovel away. “About time for lunch anyway. Let’s take a break and clean that up.”

Those two sentences combined are probably the most Jaebum’s said to him so far. Jinyoung feels oddly pleased by it, even as he bows his head in deference and says, “okay, sorry about this.” 

It takes the time for them to walk back to the house, Jinyoung with his bloody palms and Jaebum carrying all their supplies, for Jaebum to respond. “Nothing to be sorry about.” 

It’s a kind thing to say. Jaebum is a real enigma, Jinyoung thinks to himself, because he switches so quickly between hot and cold it’s hard to tell which one is the real one.

He likes to think this one but, well, Jaebum is so guarded he figures he’ll never actually find out. 

After a brief search, Jaebum comes back with a bottle of rubbing alcohol, cotton puffs, and a grim look on his face. “We’re out of bandages. We’ll have to go to town to get some. Come on.” 

Jaebum leads him to a pickup truck — the kind that looks like one of those patched up older models, but well cared for without any caked on mud or scratches muddying up the exterior. Before Jinyoung can attempt to open the passenger seat door — Jaebum’s in front opening it for him. Not looking at him the whole time, of course, but a kind gesture is a kind gesture and Jinyoung has to keep himself from smiling too much. “Thanks.”

Maybe Jaebum isn’t as intimidating as he looked, if he can be kind and caring like this. He looks handsome too behind the steering wheel. Window open and air flowing in, blowing his hair back so that it’s away from his eyes and Jinyoung can finally see his face clear and chiseled. 

Not handsome in _that_ way. But handsome. 

The drive passes in a comfortable sort of silence that Jinyoung could get used to. Though after a few seconds he starts to look around the truck with curious, bored, eyes, nothing all the small details from the pine air freshener to the newspapers stacked at his feet on the passenger seat side. There are two things that catch his interest. 

One, a corner of a picture tucked above the sun visor. Jinyoung never thought about using it like that. Two, a book shoved into the compartment on his side, just slightly too thick so that it bulges and keeps the drawer from being completely shut. 

He starts with the photo. 

“Can I?” Jinyoung asks as he points up at it. Jaebum’s gaze flickers, he hesitates, and he nods. 

It’s a picture of Jaebum and his mom; he can’t be older than four in the grainy photo. Jinyoung smiles — he must, Jaebum looks too cute not to. “You look the same, you know.” 

“As kid me? I didn’t change much.” Jaebum shrugs.

“No, I mean the same as your mom. Really alike.” 

At that, Jaebum cracks a smile. “Really? Good,” he hums, genuinely pleased by the comment. Jinyoung didn’t even mean to flatter him — he just noticed. 

“Can I look in here?” Jinyoung points to the drawer and once Jaebum nods, he pops it open. There’s the book — a worn down copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ — and a stack of film photos out of an open envelope. If his hands weren’t all raw he’d take them all out and thumb through. Instead he can only peer at the edges and slide them out one by one with his fingertips. 

“Did you take all of these?” He pulls out a shot of the setting sun over a gleaming, crystal clear, river. “They’re gorgeous.” 

“Yeah,” Jaebum looks bashful, almost shy. “Nothing special. Just places around here.”

Jinyoung looks out the window at the backdrop of purple hued mountains. The blazing sunlit glow draped over every shed and hill. The magical quiet of it all. “Something special,” he says, soft, and if Jaebum hears him he doesn’t say.

\---

The old convenience store, complete with a wrinkled old man at the till, is so quintessential Korean country that Jinyoung thinks there must be an identical one sitting in his old neighborhood in Jinhae. (He can’t remember it, so he replaces it with a memory of this one.)

Fascinated, Jinyoung peers at all the dusty products and the store’s resident cat napping on a box of Pocari Sweat. 

“Here, I got it,” Jaebum says as he waves a box of bandages and Jinyoung notices, as they pay, the bar of strawberry flavored chocolate that Jaebum tries to sneakily slip in there. Jinyoung blinks at it, blinks up at Jaebum, and Jaebum intentionally avoids eye contact as he takes the small plastic bag. 

Cute.

“What’re looking at?” Jaebum grumbles and Jinyoung grins. “Nothing.” 

_Cute._

The bell at the door rings — a group of teenagers around their age amble into the store, and Jinyoung wouldn’t think much of it if Jaebum didn’t freeze in place the moment he looked up at saw them. 

It doesn’t take long for them to notice.

“Oh? Look who’s here.” So they know each other. The leader of the pack has an ugly black eye — Jinyoung’s thoughts flit to Jaebum’s healing, but still fresh, split lip. 

“Thought I told you Jaebum.” He spits out his name like it’s something diseased. “Your sort aren’t welcome around here.” The two pack followers titter as if the guy’s said something exceptionally clever. 

“This is the only convenience store in town,” Jaebum says as he braces his jaw and Jinyoung may not know the situation but he knows that body language. Shoulders set and eyes narrowed. He tries to deescalate it by nudging Jaebum back with his arm, but the guy catches the touch and sneers. 

“Brought your boyfriend to town, huh?” Jinyoung opens his mouth to protest, to correct him, but he’s too slow. “Looks like we’ll have to fuck up _two_ faggots this time.”

Jaebum lunges so quick — no one has time to respond. Jinyoung feels himself shouting at them to stop but he doesn’t hear it, only the rush of blood in his head as he tries to pry them apart but his hands sting and one of the other boys tries to slug at him (poor aim, Jinyoung’s lucky), as the two gang up on Jaebum and grapple him two on one. There’s a swing to Jaebum’s face. Another that lands solidly on his belly.

The old man behind the counter slams his hand down and brandishes a baseball bat once he has their attention. “No fighting in my goddamn store, get out, and don’t let me catch you outside neither.” The pack splits. Before anyone changes their mind, Jinyoung grabs Jaebum by the collar of his jean jacket and hoists him up from his knees so they can rush to the truck parked nearby. He deposits Jaebum in the driver’s seat and buckles up next to him. 

Except Jaebum doesn’t move. There’s a vacant look in his eyes. An anger in the set of his jaw.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Jinyoung snaps in front of his eyes, repeatedly, until Jaebum jolts. “Drive!” 

The engine roars back to life as Jaebum does and they tear out of the area, gravel flying, speeding down the road fast as hell until Jinyoung’s sure that when he glances back in the rearview mirror there’s no chance there’s a car tailing them. 

He slumps down in his seat. The car slows and they hit the long dirt road back to the farm. 

“What was that?” Jinyoung doesn’t mean to sound accusatory — but he does. 

“What do you think it was?” Jaebum retorts, cold, and spits blood out the open window. The motion makes Jinyoung look at him and he swears, loud, at the sight of a stream of blood making its way down a cut in Jaebum’s eyebrow, into one of his eyes, down his cheek and into his mouth. 

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“You can’t see out of your left fucking eye Jaebum, _pull over_.” 

Jaebum finally obeys with a rough veer to the shoulder and Jinyoung immediately gets to work, wiping the tracks and staunching the flow with a clean looking rag. Thankfully Jaebum brought the disinfectant with him so he dabs it the best he can, apologizing when Jaebum winces hard and grits his teeth, and breaks open the box Jaebum just bought. Carefully, he places it on and breathes a sigh of relief. 

It looks okay, hopefully. The gash must have been from something sharp grazing his face when one of the guys swung at him, and the rush of what just happened finally sets up. 

“Why’d you do that?”

Jaebum looks flabbergasted at the question. 

“Why. What’d you mean why? You heard what they said,” he spits out.

“Yeah, but you threw the first punch,” Jinyoung retorts, stubborn and heated. He’s not even sure _why_ he’s so upset. “You started it — you could’ve ignored them, hyung. You have to.” 

Jaebum’s face twists up. “They’re the ones who say that shit, and this is my fault?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

What _is_ he saying? 

Jinyoung isn’t sure, yet the words keep flying out of his mouth. He gestures wildly, as if trying to grasp them out of the air. “The stuff they said. They were just trying to get under your skin. They _wanted_ you to fight. You gave them what they wanted. They won. And you just. You just get beat up in the process. You can’t see that?” 

Jaebum’s voice is a dangerous, frustrated, growl — as if he’s about to explode from something pent up. “I’m not going to stand there while they fucking — insult me. This isn’t the first time. It’s none of your damn business.” 

A flare of hot anger makes Jinyoung burn, righteous and sharp. Where Jaebum is all energy contained in one vibrating body, Jinyoung is one ruthless jab after the other. “It’s my business when you get beat in front of me. For what? It isn’t even true — it shouldn’t even bother you. You’re not one of those, and —” 

Jaebum’s hands slam down on the steering wheel. The sound is so sudden, violent, that Jinyoung is silenced.

“We’re heading back now,” Jaebum orders between grit teeth. Jinyoung unclenches his firsts — didn’t even realize he was. His nails had dug into the pink raw skin of his palms. A vision, unsolicited, flashes into his head — his own body grappling with Jaebum’s instead, like how he did with that boy at the convenience store.

Jinyoung doesn’t understand why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/roasthoney) and [twitter!](https://twitter.com/roasthoneyed)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note the rating change.

Jinyoung’s mouth is on Jaebum’s cock and it’s just as warm, as wet, as he remembers. The wrinkles around his eyes are deeper set but his mouth is still a youthful cherry red with perfectly plump limps and a blessed lack of a gag reflex. For some reason Jinyoung is nude, but Jaebum is fully clothed, and they’re outside. He’s not sure why they’re outside. But he doesn’t have time to think about that when Jinyoung’s head is bobbing and his cheeks are sucking him in and it’s been so long, too long, since Jaebum’s been touched. 

“Jesus fuck, Jinyoung.” 

A smile, lithe and oddly cunning, appears on Jinyoung’s face. His eyes are impossibly dark. Wide, like Jaebum could sink into them. He doesn’t speak and that bothers Jaebum. 

Irritated, Jaebum opens his mouth but instead he swears because Jinyoung’s sliding onto his cock and riding him, the long slick expanse of his back swaying up and down, his ass up for display. Jaebum swears and swears and he wants to hold his hips yet he can’t. 

It’s dusk outside. A velvet blue covering them both, yet Jaebum can see Jinyoung so clearly as if he’s a light shining out — so alive and hot and tight but silent. 

“Say something,” Jaebum grunts, but Jinyoung doesn’t respond. He only bobs and grasps and groans but no words come out. 

“Turn around,” Jaebum demands, but Jinyoung stays facing away as he rides him rough and quick. He feels like he might explode. He feels like he’s run a marathon, chest heaving, desperate to reach the end but desperate for it not to end at the same time. Jinyoung is eighteen again Jaebum doesn’t know how he knows but he does, like how he knows where each mole on Jinyoung’s back is located and how to connect them all up into one constellation — how to draw the lines with his tongue, tasting like salt and sex. 

“Look at me,” Jaebum pleads, but Jinyoung arches up with a cry and squeezes tight around him — this is how it must feel, he doesn’t know, he’s never known — 

And Jaebum wakes up in his bed, pants sticky at the front but cock still rock hard, rooster crowing in the background. 

He lifts the band of his pajama bottom and grimaces at the sight. He hasn’t been this turned on in a while. “Fuck.” The morning rasp to his voice only reminds him of what time it is. Barely dawn, and now he has to get to work so he doesn’t have time to take care of this. Besides, Jinyoung is sleeping on the couch with only one thin wall separating them and Jaebum is woefully aware of how easily sound travels in the house. 

So he takes an ice cold shower and aims the stream directly at his dick until his erection finally gives up. “You fucking suck,” he hisses at it and continues the rest of the verbal abuse in his head as he towels off. Jinyoung’s only been back for one damn night but already he’s dreaming about him like he couldn’t forget him, like his subconscious loves to think of the best ways to torture him. 

When he finally opens his bedroom door, he’s holding his breath. But thankfully Jinyoung is still a lump on the couch, fast asleep, and Jaebum lets out a sigh of relief. Much easier this way. Now he won’t have to intentionally avoid looking at Jinyoung’s lips all morning. 

Life sucks. 

(Jinyoung sucked in his dream too.) 

Jaebum wants to bash his own head with a shovel to stop thoughts like those. He doesn’t. Instead he works on harvesting the last batch of tomatoes still left on the vines. Slowly as they came, they’re still wonderfully ripe instead of soft and Jaebum is pleased as he loads them one by one into his tray. These’ll fetch a good price. He’ll save some for dinner too, chop them up into rough chunks and season with sesame oil, salt, and vinegar, stirring enough to bruise the edges and make them drip.

Drip like Jinyoung did in his dream.

Jaebum curses out loud and turns to find Jinyoung standing close enough to hear with a raised hand and a sheepish look. He’s dressed in jeans and one of Jaebum’s old t-shirts. He looks younger now, nothing like the polished lawyer in a suit with coiffed hair.

“Ah. Hey? I came to help.” 

“Oh. Uh.” Suddenly flustered, Jaebum turns back to the tomatoes and cuts one off. “Grab a tray. I want to harvest all of these by lunch.” He doesn’t mean to be so brusque, but it’s just so awfully awkward and it’s easier to be terse than to be revealingly embarrassed for no reason at all. 

Jinyoung nods and does as he’s told. 

“Right, you’ll need some —”

“Scissors?” Jinyoung brandishes them from his pocket with a grin. Jaebum blinks, surprised, and nods. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

There’s a pause too long to be natural but Jinyoung turns to the vines and begins to snip and pluck with care. “I still remember.” 

Jaebum guiding him, both of them eighteen, his callused hands showing Jinyoung where to cut the vine and how to handle the tomato without bruising it. Guiding him with his fingers when Jinyoung couldn’t figure out how to hold it properly. Blushing in the hot May sunshine. Jinyoung must’ve remembered the seasons too, with how he came prepared. 

“Right.” Jaebum realizes his mouth is gaping like a fish so he shuts it quick and goes back to harvesting. “Good.” Each word feels awkward. Why can’t he stop talking? God, he’s just going to keep on going isn’t it. “Don’t have to teach you again then.” 

“No,” Jinyoung responds, perfectly measured, “not again.” 

True to Jaebum’s goal they finish by lunch and the sight of all the trays lined up and ready for delivery makes him smile. He fixes food up for them, the simple salad he thought of earlier (and he does not blush thinking about _dripping_ this time), a fresh pot of white rice and kimchi soup with some fresh-out-the-can spam and pickled sweet radish. 

“It’s not much,” Jaebum prefaces but Jinyoung shakes his head and smiles. “It looks great.” 

Jinyoung starts with a sliver of kimchi and his face brightens with the loud, crisp, crunch. “Is this your mom’s?” 

“No,” Jaebum feels strangely nervous with how Jinyoung is sitting here and tasting food he’s made with his own two hands, “but it’s my mom’s recipe. I made it.” 

Jinyoung hums and piles a piece onto a large mound of rice. “Tastes just like how I remember it,” he says and proceeds to stuff his face.

Jaebum wants to call bullshit. He wants to say with a sharp tongue, _no way you remember that, it was decades ago._ He wants to wipe that kernel of stray rice off of the side of Jinyoung’s mouth with his finger, or maybe his tongue, or fuck. He does neither. He shuts up and eats instead, letting a stiff silence fall between them instead. 

The rice remains on Jinyoung’s cheek. Exactly seven minutes later, Jaebum cracks and blurts out, “you have rice. On your face.” 

Jinyoung blinks, pats to find it, and his ears blush a furious red when he sees the culprit now stuck to his fingertip. “Thanks,” he mutters, so obviously trying not to be embarrassed about it when he is. 

It is, frankly, adorable. Jaebum isn’t finished but he stands up anyway and hurries to put his food away. “We, uh. Strawberries next. I’ll be in the greenhouse — take your time, you can come when you’re done.” With a great clamor he cleans up and rushes out the door, missing Jinyoung’s puzzled expression and the way he mouths one word with stunned confusion.

_Strawberries?_

Yes, strawberries. Rows and rows of them in a humble set of three shabby greenhouses. It’s stuffy inside, but the temperature control means that Jaebum can make the plants yield all year around and it’s done a wonder for his budgeting needs. Now he isn’t scrounging for income in the winter, and it helps in other ways too.

He’s busy plucking and snapping with Jinyoung stumbles in.

“Took me a while to find these again.”

Jaebum, in an unattractive squat with a strawberry in hand, just nods. 

During that time the greenhouses were empty. Abandoned, with nothing inside except a dry dirt floor and some dried up plants. 

Jaebum tries not to think about what memories they bring up for both of them.

He expects Jinyoung to get to work but instead he walks over to where Jaebum is and crouches next to him (the crack Jaebum hears from his knees is satisfying, he’s not the only old one here). 

“I don’t know how to pick these.” He peers at Jaebum who responds by angling the strawberry in hand towards him. 

“You need to turn your wrist fast. Like this,” he says and demonstrates with a quick snap. “If you go too slow you’ll bruise the stem. Hurts the plant.” 

Jinyoung hums, nods, tries, and fails terribly. He screws his face up as he twists it and Jaebum stops him with a hand before he can do any further damage. 

“Not like that, like this,” he demonstrates again with Jinyoung’s hand in his this time, showing him how to get the right angle and jerk fast enough so that it comes out naturally. 

“Got it?” Jaebum looks at him and realize now how close they are. The warmth of his hand in his. He lets go quick and watches Jinyoung nod, watches the tips of his ears go red again. 

Shit. He shuffles sideways until he’s far enough to put some distance between them. They pick in silence like this, in the heavy humid heat of the greenhouse, handling the berries like ruby red gems. First into small plastic boxes, then larger wooden pallets, neat and gorgeous rows of them. 

There’s a steady stream of sweat flowing down the center of Jaebum’s back. It soaks his shirt and he would feel self-conscious if he wasn’t so focused on the work. It collects on his face too, forming drops that dangle on the edge of his jaw, and Jaebum doesn’t notice how Jinyoung looks when he wipes it off with his forearm. 

The air outside is heaven compared to the damp sauna inside by the time they get out. 

“Should we do the rest?” Jinyoung asks as he dabs neatly at his face and Jaebum wonders when his biceps got that big. 

“No, I leave those for the visits.” Jaebum blames his loose mouth on the biceps.

“The visits?” Jinyoung raises an eyebrow and Jaebum avoids his gaze. 

“Yeah, sometimes there are visits from groups. Kids and couples who want to pick strawberries to take home, that kind of thing. It’s good money.” 

It’s too late for Jaebum to try and play it off. Jinyoung’s mouth drops open into a perfect pink _oh_ and delight, so pure and strong, makes his whole face crinkle up. “You, showing little kids how to pick strawberries. Never thought that would happen.” 

“Shut up,” Jaebum grumbles but it sounds completely different from how it would’ve earlier, playful and pleasant instead of sharp. It feels nice to banter with Jinyoung like this. He could get used to it. Not that he will — he reminds himself that this is all temporary and Jinyoung hasn’t even really explained what he’s doing here. Why he’s here. And not those ridiculous reasons he came up with earlier. 

They aren’t friends. Aren’t quite acquaintances either. A former sort of something. A _what if_.

“Hey, could I try one?” 

The question snaps Jaebum out of his thoughts and he nods — which turns out to be a mistake, because the sight of Jinyoung biting into a ripe berry, lips pursed around its flesh, juice dripping down the side of his mouth to form a big, fat, droplet on the bottom of his chin, is too much. It makes Jaebum’s brain turn to fizz as if someone turned his brains into sugary soda and nothing else. 

“Wow,” Jinyoung remarks in awe and wipes at his face, completely misses. “These are delicious.” 

_Delicious,_ Jaebum thinks. _What a torturous word._

Too long of a time passes of Jaebum staring and saying absolutely nothing. 

Jinyoung tilts his head in silent question. 

Another long pause, this time on purpose, because Jaebum forgot how fidgety Jinyoung could get like this. How being the subject of Jaebum’s single-minded gaze was just too much for him to handle. How the tips of his ears would pinken and his face morph subtle and slow into something not embarrassment nor discomfort, but a warm heat that starts in the belly. 

“Are you staying?”

“For what?”

For this. For him.

“For dinner.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Why’d you think I’m asking?”

“I know, it’s just. Well — yes. Of course. If I’m allowed to.”

“Yeah. I’ll allow it.”


	6. Chapter 6

It’s hot outside. So hot that Jinyoung thinks that he might melt from the heat, the tendons inside first turning to jelly then his bones collapsing next until he’s a puddle on the ground. In Jinhae the summers are humid but bearable with the ocean breeze passing through and cooling the town down often. Around here, by the mountains, a breeze is rare to come by and the heat feels that much more intense for it. Jinyoung thought with them being more north it might be cooler — he was wrong.

And, of course, he seems to be the only person affected by it. Jaebum’s mother continues cheerily on with her day to day routine, sometimes commenting on the heat but nothing more than a _it’s warm out today, isn’t it boys?_

Jaebum isn’t much better. After the incident with the neighborhood boys, he’s been dead silent. A tree trunk would be more talkative, Jinyoung morosely thinks to himself, and perhaps more personable and friendly too. Maybe he was out of line, the sensible part of him reflects, but then a stubborn indigence flares up at the thought of Jaebum taking it out on _him_ when he’s the one on his side here. He’s supposed to be an ally. 

A friend.

Maybe that’s what feels so sour. They’re supposed to be friends — but instead they work alongside each other in the fields in complete silence. Even when they sit across from each other, sharing the same food for dinner, it feels as if there are miles between them instead of a few meters. 

The heat doesn’t help. It turns Jinyoung’s brain to mush and has him drenched in sweat everyday. Even Jaebum doesn’t sweat this much, he notices, to the point where his shirt is wholly stained wet and he shears the sleeves off for some relief. 

Jaebum does sweat too, in general. Not that Jinyoung notices. Not that he’s looking. Well, maybe he is — he’s just waiting to see if Jaebum’s stony façade will crack somehow and Jinyoung will get to see a glimpse of what’s inside there. Like how he looked when he used to chuckle at his jokes, or how soft his gaze is when it’s directed at Lady or Nora. 

How pathetic — wishing to be a cow or a cat. Jinyoung isn’t sure what’s come over him. 

“Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” Jinyoung snaps out of his thoughts and jolts up to see Jaebum staring right at him, gaze blank but sharp all at once. 

“I was saying, we could go to the river today. Cool off,” he says, unreadable. 

“Oh. That sounds nice.” Jinyoung dabs at his forehead and frowns at how damp he already is.

“Yeah. It’s been hot.” Except, even as Jaebum says that he looks unfazed by the heat. Perfectly fine actually. Jinyoung doesn’t question it, just slides into Jaebum’s pickup truck and stays upright the best he can. A dip in cool water sounds like something fantastic right about now. Sometime during the drive he realizes those might have been the first words Jaebum’s uttered at him in the past week. 

It’s kind of nice. Makes him feel like he’s alive and existing in the present instead of a figure in someone else’s fever-dream. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that he’s still here. Sometimes he wakes up and he thinks he’s back in Jinhae, and he can run out to the beach with his friends and viciously dig his toes into the cool, wet, sand. 

He misses it. He misses the ocean. He misses the water. He misses home — he misses getting to talk to someone who’ll talk back to him. As pitiful as sulking is, Jinyoung does just that as he stares at the fields they pass by in a green blur.

Then, with a glimmer of light shimmering off the top of it, the river comes into view. It’s nothing too special as far as rivers go but it’s a relief to Jinyoung’s eyes and he perks up, now eagerly looking out the window at it like a small child. 

He doesn’t wait for permission when they come to a stop. He fumbles out the car and yanks his shoes off once he’s close enough. “Oh,” he breathes out with a broad smile, transfixed by the cool water lapping at his ankles. 

Distracted as he is, he doesn’t notice Jaebum wading into the river until he’s already in there. 

Bare.

_Completely._

Jinyoung garbles out a confused exclamation and nearly stumbles. 

The water’s completely clear. And it only goes up to Jaebum’s chest with him standing at the deepest point, so something about him standing there just _glistening_ takes his breath away. 

“Are you coming or not?” Jaebum asks and something about that flusters Jinyoung, makes him fumble when he tugs off his shirt and slides his shorts down. He doesn’t look to see if Jaebum is looking — acts casual instead, like this is nothing new. _Not_ an act that makes him turn red at the reality of being exposed like this in front of Jaebum. He feels self-conscious — his shoulders are narrow where Jaebum’s are broad, arms like corded wire compared to his, and he doesn’t even want to dare think about dick size. 

Not that he was looking. 

Jinyoung slides into the water as quick as he can so at least his lower half isn’t on display. It’s blissfully cool; he sighs aloud, crouches so that he can submerge his entire body. It’s peaceful down here. Uncomplicated. But he must surface for air, and when he does it’s in front of a dripping wet Jaebum. The twist in his stomach must be envy. The heat in his cheeks embarrassment and not anything else. 

Jaebum is just. He’s beautiful. 

The word knocks the wind out of Jinyoung. Who thinks of other boys as beautiful? The shell of their ears as something delicate — the line between thigh and groin a stroke of art. The spine a path to follow down. 

Their eyes connect. It feels dangerous, so much so that Jinyoung dives back underwater and forces his weight to stay at the bottom of the river instead of floating up. He can hide, like this, and hiding is good — hiding lets him avoid all of the unpleasant, unwanted, feelings bubbling up inside of him. Counting the pebbles at the bottom of the river is much more enjoyable than standing around with Jaebum in naked silence.

A glint catches his eye. Jinyoung picks it up and rises so that he can take a good look. It’s a ring. Silver, looks like. Wide enough to maybe fit his own finger. Fascinated, he slips it on like it’s a wedding band and it fits — a touch loose, but it stays. 

“What’s that?” Jinyoung starts; Jaebum’s suddenly so close and examining his hand with open curiosity. 

“I found it, down there. I think it’s a ring?” Feeling foolish, Jinyoung slips it off. He realizes how it might look — imagining he’s married like some teenager dreaming of love. 

“Can I try?” Jaebum asks and extends a palm. 

Mute, Jinyoung hands it over to him. Jaebum is even more beautiful up close. He can see the twin moles peeking up at him. Water glistening on his thick eyelashes like jewels on a crown. The dark, curled, trail of hair on his abdomen leading him to the water. 

“Oh hey. It fits.” Perfectly, ironically, right on Jaebum’s ring finger. 

It’s then that Jinyoung realizes that despite the cold river water, he’s hard. 

“Looks good — you should keep it,” he splutters and turns with a splash, half running and wading back to shore where his clothes are. He needs to hide this, _now_ , because the possibility of Jaebum noticing is so mortifying it makes him hot all over. 

“Ready to go back already?” Jaebum calls out; Jinyoung frantically nods without looking. “Yes,” he shouts back, and curses his throat for squeaking. Handling his own dick as he tries to tuck it flat only makes it more excited so he has to force the most unattractive thoughts he can think of into his mind. Anything other than Jaebum, he prays. Any _one_.

Later Jaebum asks him if he’s sure he doesn’t want the ring. He’s the one who found it after all, Jaebum remarks, because fair is fair. Jinyoung firmly declines. If he wears that, he’s sure the memory of it will trigger more erections like some weird pavlovian response to silver bands and rivers. 

Besides, it looks good on Jaebum. Like how everything else does. Jinyoung, in his own imagination, screams into the mountains so loud that it echoes back to him. 

It’s going to be a long summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life took over for a while there but we're back in business. catch me on [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/roasthoney) and [@twitter](https://twitter.com/roasthoneyed)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the two chapter (7 & 8) update, so start at 7! 
> 
> astilbe (i'll still be waiting) now named dogeared. feels more fitting. also belatedly added the slow burn tag. love to hear your thoughts on it and how the story's going.
> 
> also added a tag on religious conflict for religious themes please note!

Jinyoung stays for dinner.

But here’s the thing — he stays for longer than that too. The next morning Jaebum wakes up and shockingly, Jinyoung is still there, stretched out and fast asleep on his couch. Peaceful, calm, and looking vulnerable in a way that makes Jaebum nervous. 

No one stays. 

That’s Jaebum’s mantra — and as cynical, as cliché, as it is, it has been true to him so far. His dad left when he was young. His mom left too, understandably to try living in the city again with his step-dad, but she isn’t here at the farmhouse. The place anchors him and ties him down all at once. He wouldn’t leave even if he wanted to; he can’t leave even if he wanted to. The line between the two is a blurred, cyclical, mess. 

Easier to tell himself he doesn’t want it than to consider wanting it in the first place. 

This is where Jaebum was born, and this is where he’ll die. He can’t expect anyone else to stay if he can’t keep his own resolute promise to no one but himself. 

Jinyoung, though, seems to be completely at home. He settles in, sweatpants and boots and all, looking unglamorous compared to his first day arriving in a suit and tie. His hair turns into a barely contained bird’s nest instead of a perfect coif. He wears Jaebum’s old, holey, shirts without complaint. He eats whatever it is that Jaebum puts on the table with vocal enthusiasm. He even unclogs the toilet with a plumb vigor and Jaebum is _confused._

He’s come. He’s seen him. What reason is left for him to stay?

A week passes. Then another. Jaebum gets used to setting two ricebowls out on the table. They begin to talk about everything (except for the past) from music, news, novels and dreams. Jinyoung knows much more about what’s north of the border compared to him, living here. Jaebum has so many pent up thoughts about music trends that he spends a whole day and a half talking about it, occasionally encouraged by a curious question or small smile from Jinyoung’s end. Jinyoung begins to pluck and read his way through Jaebum’s bookcase, and Jaebum tries not to think about the thoughts he’s scribbled into the margins — because there was no one else to talk to, to tell, at the time. 

Now there is. They read in silence, sometimes, and Jaebum tends to doze off on his end of the couch but Jinyoung never nudges him away. Just lets him sleep and watches over — like some kind of quiet guardian. Somehow, those snippets of sleep are some of the best Jaebum’s managed to have lately. Though, the couch is stiff and lumpy and leaves him with a sore neck. 

“Are you sleeping okay on this?” he asks with a yawn after one of those small naps, folding the edge of his page down to leave it for later. 

(Jinyoung used to scold him for doing that. Told him it left the pages bent and ruined the book’s condition. Jaebum would counter, always, that folding the pages was showing that the book was read. Nothing wrong with showing a book care by using it, instead of handling it with kid-gloves as if it being untouched is better than it being loved. And he wouldn’t say this, but he used to think it romantic. A dogeared page. A point to claim in a long story — a place to come back to. Irreversible.) 

“The couch? Yeah, it’s not bad,” Jinyoung answers a little _too_ perfectly. 

Jaebum shoots him a skeptical look; a narrowing of the eyes. 

“Really?” he presses down on the thin cushion. The springs squeak in protest. “I know how old this thing is.”

“Feels brand new.” Jinyoung’s eyes remain stubbornly trained on his book. Odd, Jaebum thinks, that they aren’t moving down the page at all.

“Is that why your back was sore this morning?” Jaebum asks, setting his own down on the table. He spreads his legs and slings his arms back, resting them up on the top of the sofa, the picture of arrogance. He’s smug because he knows he’s _right_ and when Jinyoung tries to deny it, he takes too much pleasure in proving him wrong. 

“You noticed? How _sweet_ of you,” Jinyoung jibes right back, but his pink tipped ears give away what his dry tone tries to hide. 

“It’s uncomfortable and you know I’m right.” 

Jinyoung literally throws his arms up into the air. “Fine — you’re right. But this is where I have to sleep, isn’t it?” It’s not a _real_ question. It’s the kind you ask when you think there’s only one answer, so the point proven is your own. All Jaebum has to say is _yes_ and the argument’s been won.

“Well.”

Jaebum pauses. He does not say yes. He hesitates for so long that Jinyoung’s gaze snaps to him with a certain look. Unreadable. Confused. Hopeful, maybe. 

“Well?” he asks, delicate, careful not to push Jaebum too far. 

“Well. I have, um.” 

Fuck, what is he offering?

Jaebum shifts in his seat. Is he really doing this? He’s the one who brought the topic up. He’s the one who wouldn’t let it drop. Now he’s here, maybe meant to bring it here, but he doesn’t know what to do with it here.

“I have a bed. And it’s pretty big.” 

He fidgets and picks at the edge of his shorts, squeezing his legs together now and bouncing his heels against the floor. This shouldn’t make him nervous. It does. He can hear Jinyoung swallow in the silence. 

“Are you offering?” Jinyoung asks with his voice so low it shouldn’t sound hot but it _does_. He feels closer now too, leaning towards him on this damned couch as if he wants to close the distance between them. He doesn’t.

“Yeah, I guess I am. Just because I know how uncomfortable this thing is — and I got the space. Nothing else,” he breathes out, rushed.

“Nothing else. Right.” If Jinyoung’s disappointed, he’s good at hiding it.

“Right. Speaking of bed, I’m going to. Uh. Go to it.” 

Curse being awkward, curse making spontaneous offers, curse how rapidly his heart beats at the thought of sharing a bed with Jinyoung again. It’s not a big deal. He’s done this before with — well, actually, with no one. 

_Fuck._ Jaebum mutters it all throughout his nighttime ritual, until he’s lying in his bed and staring up at the shadowed ceiling. What’s gotten into him? Confusion swirls in his veins and he feels tense because of it. Full of something he can’t begin to name. 

At the click of the doorknob turning he shuts his eyes. Better to pretend he’s already asleep. But maybe not so convincing with how loudly he’s breathing and how he stiffens like a board when Jinyoung pulls the blankets down on the other side and climbs in next to him. There’s a solid few inches between them — but it doesn’t feel like enough. 

Jaebum tries to count sheep. Tries to count cats. Tries to bore himself to sleep with thoughts about soil types and crop cycles. Tries to hold his breath so that he can pass out — but none of it works. 

Jinyoung, on the other hand, seems to be perfectly calm (but he’s always been a good actor). 

A solid half hour of tense silence passes. 

Jinyoung breaks it with a heavy sigh. “I can hear your heart beating from here, I know you can’t sleep. I can go back to the couch, I don’t mind —” 

“No,” Jaebum blurts out. “No, it’s fine. It’s just. Been a while.”

“Right.” 

Jinyoung doesn’t seem to be judging him, but he also seems to be at a loss on what to do. Jaebum’s head goes round and round, endless circles. 

“What was it like?” he blurts out. 

“It?” 

“Your life. Before you came here?” Jaebum hopes that questions might fill the quiet — and this one is the first to come to mind. The one that’s been hiding in his heart the whole time. 

“Ah, well. Not that different, actually. I would work, then go home, and work again. Mostly paperwork. Business transactions. Not the most exciting stuff.” 

“Oh.”

There must be a disappointed note in Jaebum’s voice because Jinyoung turns his head and responds, a little too quick, “oh?” 

“Just thought you’d end up doing something else.” Jaebum shrugs but the gesture is lost in the dark. 

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know, teaching.” 

There’s a too long pause from Jinyoung then careful, low, “I’m surprised you remembered.” 

“Just have a good memory,” Jaebum blurts out. Not a big deal. Not like he still remembers what Jinyoung said his dream used to be when he was younger, when _they_ were younger, with big dreams about who to be and where to go and love —

“What about family? No kids, no angry wife waiting for you to get home?” 

Jinyoung chuckles and the sound makes the air between them rumble. 

“No, neither.”

“That’s a surprise.” 

“A lot of me seems to be surprising you, hyung,” Jinyoung says sounding less amused than before, propping himself up on his elbow now. He doesn’t even try to pretend to be sleeping. 

“Yeah, well. All of this is a surprise to me,” Jaebum snaps back without much thought, reacting with the tense knot in his chest instead of reason. Jinyoung isn’t here to stay; he doesn’t know why he’s here. “When’re you going back anyway, don’t you have to get back to work?” 

Jinyoung huffs — loud as a can be. “I quit before I left so — no, I don’t have to go back.” 

“You what?” That manages to make Jaebum’s jaw drop and he turns finally to meet Jinyoung’s eyes, gaping. 

“I quit.”

“Because of what — of this?” 

“No. And yes. I was going to quit anyway, but it made sense to quit before I left. It’s not who I am. It’s not who I want to be. Working there felt like — I’ve been trying to act like someone I’m not. Be someone I’m not.” 

Jinyoung’s speech is _earnest_. A heart aching sort of sincere in the nighttime quiet between them — the definition of pillowtalk. So honest that it feels like something too important for Jaebum to be given, too heavy when he didn’t ask for this. He didn’t ask for him to quit his job and come all the way here. His face heats. He didn’t ask for to be the urge at the end of a sudden revelation to be _true to yourself_ in the middle of a random summer. He has a life, thank you, and to disrupt it like this. To come in and make his heart remember what it’s like to want. To crash into his dreams and join his dinners, and lay there talking about what it means to be open. 

It infuriates him.

“Trying to be honest now? Isn’t it a little too late?” 

Jinyoung recoils, physical. Stung and confused. “I don’t think so. It’s never too late to be honest to yourself.” 

Jaebum’s mouth curls into a bitter twist. “And your parents, do they know?”

“Do they know I quit? Not yet, but I’ll —”

“No, do they _know_.” Jaebum delivers it like a dagger, sharp toothed. 

“I, no. But that’s none of your fucking business, Jaebum,” Jinyoung hisses and rears up, as if he’s about to storm out. 

“Oh, none of my business now?” Jaebum laughs — an angry, sour, thing. “None of my business when you come back here like. Like nothing happened, laying in my bed and lying through your fucking teeth about being _true to yourself._ ” He laughs again, as if he can’t stop himself. “Nothing’s changed. You’re still a fucking coward.” 

A bolt of lighting striking outside lights up his bedroom and Jaebum can see Jinyoung’s face, so clear and precious — pained, furious, stricken all at once. 

Still as beautiful as the first day Jaebum saw him.

“Fuck you. Maybe I am — but you don’t know shit about courage either, Jaebum. Holed up here, ready to die here, too scared to leave this shitty little town that doesn’t even want you here. And you act like you don’t need them. Like you don’t need anyone.” 

Jaebum’s resounding growl gets drowned out by the thunder outside. 

“Fuck you.”

He spits. Jinyoung snarls. 

“No, fuck _you_.” 

Jaebum lunges.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the two chapter (7 & 8) update, so start at 7!
> 
> astilbe (i'll still be waiting) now named dogeared. feels more fitting. also belatedly added the slow burn tag. love to hear your thoughts on it and how the story's going.

“Where’s your dad?” 

Jaebum looks behind him, at Jinyoung, taken aback by the sudden question. They’re walking through the fields, between the rows, hurrying home because of the storm clouds rumbling in. Flashes in the sky above warn them about what’s coming — and it’s rolling in fast. 

“Sorry, that was kind of abrupt,” Jinyoung apologies quick with a sheepish look. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. I thought, maybe, we’re close enough to ask now.” 

At least, Jinyoung hopes they are. They’re halfway through the summer now and have gone from awkward small talk, to icy silence, to something resembling a truce, to inside jokes and warm moments after spending every hour of every day together. He’s learned a lot about Jaebum. His soft spot for Nora, his liking for music and dance, his short attention span for academics and how his low grades don’t reflect anything about the mind he has. Behind that slow drawl and tendency to grunt is a sharp mind. They can bounce ideas back and forth now like seasoned professionals. Jinyoung feels close to him. 

He wants to know more about him; he can’t explain it. 

And, well, his mom has been needling him for answers and it’s annoying. 

“It’s okay. Yeah, think we are now,” Jaebum mumbles as he stares up at the clouds. There’s a long pause before he answers. “Didn’t like him much. They’re divorced now — he isn’t around, really. Not for me. Too busy, I guess.” 

Jinyoung’s eyebrows furrow. “Why’d they get divorced?” 

Jaebum’s boots sink deep into the mud with how hard he stomps. “I don’t know. Why’s it matter?”

Jinyoung takes a while to respond, as if he doesn’t actually want to ask but he has to. “I just. Well. My mom’s worried about your mom.” 

“Worried about what?” Jaebum’s eyes narrow.

Jinyoung blunders into the topic blind and naïve. His parents didn’t tell him much about divorce. The church tells him it’s a reflection of a poor management of faith. The union is sacred. Both have to work to preserve it, and to separate must be at the fault of family. And who manages the family? Mothers. They maintain the peace. They sacrifice all for the sake of children — and sons can’t grow up right without two parents, one dad, one mom, in harmony before God. 

“I don’t know, just worried. She thinks your mom should talk to him. She asked me to, well. Isn’t it hard without him?” 

Jaebum whirls around, eyes blazing. “What does _she_ know about this?” 

Jinyoung, instinctual, defends his mother. “Is it wrong for her to be worried?” 

“We’re just fine. Two of us,” Jaebum spits out, advancing to jab a finger against Jinyoung’s chest. The touch makes Jinyoung stiffen and puff up — doing what he thinks he has to do to prove himself in a fight like this. 

“Is it? I heard you skipped so much class last year you almost got held back. I know it’s because of those bullies in town. How’re you supposed to go to university if you don’t go to class, hyung?” 

“That has _nothing_ to do with my dad.” 

“Maybe it does.” Jinyoung screws up his face, stepping closer. He’s concerned; he didn’t want it to come out like this. “If he was here —” 

“If he was _here_ , he’d be fucking drinking his life away, money away, and you don’t know, you don’t _know_ —” Jaebum’s temper explodes like a bolt striking the ground, wild and unrestrained. He shoves Jinyoung to the ground. Pushes him and rolls, grappling where he could strike him but he doesn’t, cursing and groaning and maybe even crying. It could be the rain that washes over them in a violent wave. 

Mud squelches beneath them. Jinyoung tries to reach through by shouting his name but it doesn’t work and they collide, over and over again, “you don’t know, you don’t even know.” 

“I don’t,” Jinyoung gasps, winded by a shove to his abdomen, but he reaches for Jaebum’s face instead of pushing back, fingers leaving streaks across his cheekbones. Painting lines that cut across his face. Jaebum looks like someone else — someone he doesn’t know, consumed by emotion, by fury and abandonment. “I don’t, I don’t know, I’m sorry I don’t — but fuck, come back. Just come back.” 

He pleads. 

Jaebum lunges — down, to kiss him. 

Jinyoung doesn’t have time to be stunned — he responds eager, hungry, starving for his touch since the first day he walked in and Jaebum appraised him with that sharp gaze and his sun kissed shoulders bronze and broad. The taste of Jaebum explodes in his mouth; the edge of dirt gritty beneath it all. Jaebum’s body flattens above him and he writhes, adjusting, spreading his legs so that Jaebum’s thigh can find a place between them. Hard muscle. Jinyoung’s watched him working in the fields long enough to know just how firm they are. 

“Jaebum, please —” Jinyoung pleads, biting Jaebum’s bottom lip hard enough to taste blood as he does, as vicious as he is desperate. Jaebum groans in response. He’s so firm between all the layers of cotton and denim. He’s hard; Jinyoung can tell, the distinct shape pressed against him so hot that it hurts. He grinds down and Jinyoung swears, shaking, the gray sky above them bearing down with a wrath reminiscent of all the sins he’s been told not to do. 

Sins like this. But god, is it worth it. 

Jinyoung licks at his neck, sucks and nips at it, relishes the pained pleasure noises rumbling out of Jaebum’s _too tough to feel_ throat. Not tough enough to hide his reaction to this, Jinyoung joyously thinks to himself, finally recovering enough to grind his hips up to meet Jaebum’s. 

It’s simple. It’s good. It’s dry, and stiff, and wet all over his back and clothes instead of where it counts, but Jaebum tastes like strawberries, like dry bottled sunshine, like clear cool rivers and the earth caked beneath his fingernails. He wants to strip and bask himself in him, lose himself in his current. 

Groaning, heaving, the line between fight and fuck blurs as Jinyoung tugs at Jaebum’s hair hard enough to sting, as Jaebum shoves him into the dirt with each filthy thrust. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t —” Jinyoung pulls Jaebum closer, Jaebum cages him in his arms, and he comes in his jeans so hard his vision goes in and out. 

It’s not much — but Jinyoung reaches down to grip the outline of Jaebum’s cock, and it’s enough to make him follow after with a strained moan. 

They collapse, spent, in the mud. The rain doesn’t conveniently stop for them and continues to drip into Jinyoung’s eyes. It’s cold and the mess in his pants is unpleasant enough to make him squirm.

“Jaebum. Hyung.” He nudges at him, chest aching under the weight of him. Jaebum’s face turns to his and wet like this — he’s breathtaking. 

Jinyoung tilts his chin up, captures a barely there kiss. He just — has to.

He has to. 

Jaebum looks stunned and soft all at once. 

“Let’s go home?”

Home. 

Jaebum nods, gets up — clasps Jinyoung’s hand in his and raises him up, together.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/roasthoney) and [@twitter](https://twitter.com/roasthoneyed)


End file.
